Meet Halfway
by stilessttilinski
Summary: The melody and the flowing of the keys and the staccato and the choppy notes and the slur of the beautifulbeautiful song is what really helps them be together, be one. - - AlbusOC - for Amy.


**a.n.**

**for mystii's challenge: **A New Era: The Next-Gen Challenge.

**character: albus severus potter.**

**song: ****stand in the rain**** by superchick.**

**prompts: poetry, halfway, music.**

**dedicated to: **_Amy is rockin_, **because she dedicated a ScoRose FreeVerse to me that you all should read, now. **

**disclaimer: well, since i didn't own harry potter YESTERDAY, i don't think i'm suddenly going to own it today.**

_and the fears whispering, if she stands, she'll fall down._

-**superchic[k]**

You know that boy with the messy_black_ hair and greengreen eyes, the one that gets too much attention and the one that's treated like _VIP_ every time?

If you really get to know him, you'll learn he's really nothing special.

He's just an ordinary boy, really. Nothing unique about him. He holds nothing of interest to anyone, other than the fact that he's Harry-_fucking_-Potter's son.

He's a replica of his dad, he knows. And he's already accepted that fact, because really, what can he do to change it? Nothing. So he takes it, he takes everything in, absorbing and adapting and people think he just doesn't give a fuck, but he does.

He's not some bloody robot, he _does_ have feelings, you know. He just prefers to keep to himself, because his philosophy is that everyone'll break you eventually, and that friends are just wannabe _fakes_.

(He's never been more alone.)

.

She's a coldcold Slytherin, with no regard for anyone's feelings, and she really couldn't care less about _Albus Severus Potter_, because _Harry Potter's_ the real deal and Albus is just an empty imitation. Her parents weren't on Harry's side, mind you, but she doesn't care about them and they were _wrong_, anyway.

She somehow manages to make friends, though, _oh_, there are so many, always surrounding and flocking her like the paparazzi, like she's someone _worth_ following.

(She's not, really.)

.

He is afraid to show any emotions, afraid of being _rejected_ and _trampled over_ and he's too far into his own shell to get out.

She is afraid, too, but for different reasons, _ohso_ different. She's surrounded, and really, her fears are _sillysilly_, but she _can't_ stand on her own, she _can't_ try and be independent (because she'll just fall down).

.

_(_maybe if they meet halfway, they can work something out._)_

.

They are like a piece of poetry (they flow _sososo_ well together) although they're a contradiction, one who is forever alone, and one who is _smothered_. It's ironic, really, but maybe with each other, they can stop feeling so excluded and so _different_.

So they start talking about _teeny-tiny_ things, like school and grades and crap like that, but they _enjoy_ each other's company, so _that has to mean something_, right?

Then, they delve deeper, into feelings and family and friends, and he tells her about his arguments with James, and she tells him about her parents' fights, and they feel like they _know_ each other, somehow.

(They think they can fall in love with each other, if they really try.)

.

She teaches him to play the piano and he teaches her how to play Quidditch. They start spending every living moment together, either with Albus clumsily playing the keys of the piano, constantly fumbling around for notes, or with her, wobbling slightly on a broom, legs clutching the hard wood with abandon.

The music is what really gets them, though. The melody and the flowing of the keys and the staccato and the choppy notes and the slur of the _beautifulbeautiful_ song is what _really_ helps them be _together_, be _one_.

It brings them together and they _shineshineshine_, and maybe they've always been able to do it alone, but they prefer being a pair, anyway.

(They're a dynamic duo, really.)

.

(Yes, they get married, and yes, they get their happy-ever-after with beautiful children and white picket fences.)

But they never forget the rickety-old-creaky piano in the corner, just waiting to be played. So (when they can) they run their calloused, worn fingers over it, and play the notes gently, oh-so-gently, and they listen to the prettypretty melody…

And they fall in love all over again.

**a.n.**

**that sucked, so much.**

**please don't favorite without reviewing. (although i have no idea why you'd favorite this, anyway.)**


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